


Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch.3

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Post 513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the times that try men's souls." T. Paine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Not Time's Fool Part I Ch.3

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet #116

Justin’s POV:

  
          **“Anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.”** _Arthur S. Roche_

  
      The stress of last minute preparations and the 'will he or won’t he, does he or doesn’t he' cloud over my head had taken its toll. If I managed four hours of sleep a night. I was lucky. I don't know why but crawling into bed is the trigger. I lay my head on the pillow and the switch in my brain flips into high gear until the sun comes rises. Emotionally and physically, I’m a wreck. I have to find out if he knows about the show. After consulting with friend, partner-in-crime and closet shrink, Daphne, I finally broke down and caved under the pressure. I called my mother. 

      She crackled with happiness the minute she picked up. “Justin! Sweetie, how are you? Are you excited? Goodness, of course you’re excited. You must be beyond excited! I’m so thrilled for you!”

      I tried to brush it off as no big deal, but the effort was futile when pitted against a mother’s pride. “Mom, it’s a small gallery and a small show. Calm down.”

     “I _am_ calm, Justin. But this is such a—”

     “Mom!”

     “Oh, honey, I’m sorry! I don’t mean to go on but—”

     “Please, stop for a minute, will you?” Fuck, that came out sharper than I intended. But I don’t need.... Relax. Let her enjoy the moment for you.

      I took a deep breath. “Mom?” Silence. Never a good sign.

     “I’m stopping, Justin.”

      Her eery calmness creeped me out. When the fuck did she start taking lessons from Brian? “Mother, I didn’t mean—”

      Like a genie freed from its bottle, she started again. “I’m so proud of you, Justin, and happy for you, too. In spite of everything, you’re making your dreams come true.”

      And then my mother tittered like a fucking teenager. “You’ll never believe it, but I don’t have any gallery flyers left. I’ve been handing them out to everyone.”

      Writers often use a pregnant pause to build suspense in a story. Well, my mom just used it in spades. Loathe as I was to hear the questions she wanted to ask, I waited for her continue. When she didn’t, I jumped in to push her along. “Does allof gay Pittsburgh know about my show?” It was the best I could do without asking outright.

      After a brief hesitation—I could picture her twirling a lock of hair while she debated what to say—she gave an uncomfortable laugh. My fingers tightened around the phone in anticipation of _what?_ That he knew? That he didn’t? That he didn’t give a shit either way? My heart filled my chest with nervous flutters.

     “Just about. I don’t think I missed anyone.”

      Her answer both relieved and worried me. I heard it. The poker player’s 'tell.'

      He knows.                                                                                                                              

                                                                                                             * * *  
Brian’s POV:  
  
  
     “Can I get you something, sir?”

      I ignored the fluttering eyelashes and the double entendre. But the subtle nuance was impossible to miss when the blue-eyed blonde leaned closer, inches from my face.  
  
     “If you need anything else _._...” The offer trailed off into suggestive limbo.

      S _orry honey, wrong sex_. I returned her stare with a lazy one of my own before asking the impressive flight attendant for another Beam. When Goldilocks understood she couldn’t insinuate herself into my pants, the seduction act faded. She straightened up, ran a well-manicured hand across her crimson and cream uniform to smooth any wrinkles, and strode down the narrow aisle to get my drink.

      I was exhausted. In between visits to the bathroom for the sole purpose of staring at my reflection, I spent the entire fucking flight deciding what to do and say. Thoughts and ideas raced through my head like world-class sprinters, creating havoc in an already chaotic mental jungle. I couldn’t find the words any more than dive from the plane without a parachute. But I had to make the jump. And I had to find the words.

                                                                                    [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/kinfic2/21159744/42791/42791_original.png)

 

      Yeah, I could have taken take the next flight back to the Pitts and fed myself a shitload of lies from my unlimited cache. I knew them by heart. Fuck knows I used them enough. Odds are I would again. But this time I couldn’t. Because one thing was crystal clear. I need him to be with me, regardless of the repercussions.

      I blame this bizarre necessity on a treasonous fantasy that’s wormed its way into my mind, thanks to a certain blond twink. I’d deny the fact to anyone foolish to ask or intimate, but the asinine concept of having it all haunts me at night and stalks me during the day. If, in the realm of the unimaginable, you entertain the idea, what do you do? Do you tell yourself it’s stupid and ignore it? Do you force yourself to move on? After six fucking years, I haven’t found an answer.

_      “ _ **What if you were always stuck in one place, your mind spinning and unable to go forward like tires clenched in mud, because the answers wouldn’t reveal themselves to you?” ** _ ©Will Lavender _

                                                                                                      * * *

  
     The plane landed smoothly and as it taxied to the gate, impatient passengers, myself included, rose from their seats before the electronic all clear. After a leisurely stretch, I collected my bag from the compartment above and noticed a gaze that lingered too long for a random coincidence. Not bothering to be discreet, I appraised the tightly muscled chest and perfectly angled hips. My cock perked up. Did Pavlov ever do experiments on gay men?

                                                                    **“The game is afoot, thou still let'st slip.”** _©Shakespeare, King Henry IV_

      I followed him into the terminal, admiring the sway of his ass as he weaved among the throng of departing passengers. Before disappearing from view, he stopped short and whirled around. Catching his eye, I gave a slight nod toward the men's room. This was as formal an introduction as we would get. We were already on the same page. Who needed more?

      As luck would have it or perhaps not, depending on your point of view, the rest room was empty. I pushed him into a stall, slammed the door shut with my foot, and shoved him against the wall. His zipper opened as if coated with butter, the hard flesh underneath twitching when the navy linen pants slid down his thighs. Niceties over with, I made short work of my own, sheathing and lubing my dick in record time.

                                                                                
  
     With heat surging in my veins, I pounded his ass until one powerful thrust pushed me over the edge with a muffled grunt. I filled the condom and he splattered the wall. Fast and furious. And over. Anonymous sex yet again; no words spoken, no numbers exchanged, no nothing.

      I finished washing my hands and was in the middle of straightening my clothes when one word bulldozed its way to the front of my brain. _Why_? I hadn’t even been particularly horny—for me. So, _why_? Was it because it’s what I expected myself to do, something I did by rote just for the sake of doing and would continue to do, for all I knew? If so, a disturbing thought overrode any fanciful ideas of a future with Justin. He knew it, too.

                                                _“I need you by me, beside me, to guide me, to hold me and scold me ‘cause when I’m bad, I’m so, so bad.”_ _©P.Jabara_

 

Continue here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/864297>


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